A Day of Dismay
by HetalianWaffle
Summary: America isn't coping well with September 11th, he never does. 14 years, and he still thinks of his failure in saving everyone. Maybe all he needs is a little reminder that it's okay.


He still remembered that day like it was yesterday. The horrible, horrible day, 14 years ago.

It was the worst thing that could've happened, and at the worst possible time. He was so _happy_ , and someone had to go and destroy so many buildings, and kill so many innocent people.

3,000. That was the number he heard echo in his head every year since that day. No matter where he went, who was talking, the number of deaths mentioned that day was always around 3,000.

He hated it. He was inside the building at that time, and did everything he could to get other out as fast as he could. He was injured badly, but he would live through wounds 10 times as bad as the normal human would die from. His only goal as soon as that plane hit was to get people out, and do it fast.

He still remembered the people he couldn't save. He heard screams above the chaos, ones from above him, below him, all around him, as he did what he thought was best. But each time he saw something, something that lead to an innocent killed, he faltered, wondering if he was failing in his goal to protect the people he loved so dearly.

Something in America changed that day. He didn't show it, but that day was something that had given him a new perspective on the world, and just how dangerous it really was. It was something horrible, and he just wished that he could go back in time, and do something about it.

It was that day again, September 11th, in 2015. Like all times that date rolled around, America spent all of his time mourning at the memorial where the buildings once stood, and then sitting in the dark, trying to stop himself from regretting his choice to visit the towers that day. It never worked, and everything, the faces, the noise, the pain, it all came crashing back to him, making him unable to move.

He had a representative of a state go to any meetings held on that day for him, and this time it was Ohio's turn. She didn't bother going to check on him, the others who were better with social activity, and didn't feel hopelessly confused around crying people, often took to that job. She generally stayed in Cleveland, sitting at that same bench where she first saw Flight 93 turn around. She was confused that day, but assumed nothing was wrong, and she wished she hadn't. Ohio hadn't heard anything so far, at the time she was angry as Michigan and was sulking in her own state, in the public places that were so empty at times like those.

So instead of checking in on America, Ohio mainly walked down the steps, heading towards the front door. She almost ran into a frantic Hawaii, who was rushing to try and get America back to his perkiness that each of the states had to admit they loved.

Ohio looked back up the steps as she opened the door, feeling weird about leaving. Of course she would, it was the anniversary of 9/11, even New York, who on a normal case would act like none of these things got to her, even if had happened in her state, was jittery with worry about the anniversary.

Since the world meeting was being held in Canada, Ohio had to use the teleportation skills every nation, capital, and state possessed, making travel between countries easy and quick.

She made sure she was outside of the building, and walked into the door, heading towards the room she knew that the meeting would be held in.

"Wait," someone, a worker at the building, said. "Where are you going?"

Ohio didn't stop walking, instead turning around as she walked away from the confused worker. "I'm going to be representing America in the world meeting today, thank you very much."

She turned back around and slipped her earphones in, the first song playing being 21 Guns, which Ohio personally felt matched the date a bit too well.

She did get lost, but wouldn't dare admit that to anyone, and by the time she was coming close to the meeting room, the song ended and changed to This is Gospel, which still reminded her a bit too much of what happened that day 14 years ago. The neutral, seemingly bored, expression she always carried while listening to music changed into a frown as Ohio approached the room. She heard what sounded like talking from the inside of the room, and stopped her music to hear.

"Isn't America coming?" A voice asked. Oh, so they had forgotten the date. Ohio had to admit, when she woke up that morning, the date was certainly not the first thing on her mind, it wasn't until much later in the day.

"It's late, even for him."

"I'm worried. It's too quiet now."

"Is there anything going o-"The voice that most certainly belonged to Italy was cut off as Ohio opened the door, turning her music back on. She nonchalantly walked towards the only empty seat, where America usually sat. When she received looks, she sighed, they had still not put two and two together.

"You guys check the calendar lately?" she asked simply, not looking up as she turned on her phone and held the calendar app out to everyone.

That was when they made the connection, their expressions changing.

"Bingo," Ohio muttered, not really caring. She was too busy thinking about America.

She could tell what he was doing, they all could. There was a bit of a mental connection between America and the states, and if she concentrated, she was able to think what he was thinking.

Mental images slid through her brain, and once again that dreary frown appeared on her face. She, and everyone else, didn't like the thought of someone like America, usually so happy and carefree, being as depressed as he always was on 9/11.

Images from the scene, most inside the building, came into her mind, and Ohio knew they were all from America's memory. One sentence rang out, almost making Ohio flinch.

 _'I'm not a hero.'_

The only possible time for America to think this was now, as they all knew he was inside the building at the time, and tried to make it his responsibility to save everyone. Even though he couldn't, this didn't mean he had failed, and Ohio wanted to tell him, somehow, that it was alright.

She tried sending a mental message back, hoping that America would reach it. She grinned as she did so, because she could hear 49 other voices, saying the exact same thing, certainly able to reach America in his state of sadness, and show his that he was a great country, even though the dark times like these.

' _Yes you are.'_


End file.
